The Demon and the Sinner
by undoneaccount
Summary: For Charlotte Winston, she's never had a normal childhood, being raised by a priest she was raised by the religion, both the light and dark side of it, including demons. When she comes face to face with the demon Crowley who knows all of her dirty secrets, both of their lives change forever in ways Heaven, Earth and Hell never expected. Crowley/Charlotte.
1. The Deal

**Opening Notes: **Thanks for taking an interest, my short excerpt on the previous page must've been semi-interesting for you to open up this story. Since I like to know what I'm getting into at the beginning of any fanfic I'm going to give you a larger, slightly more detailed synopsis (but not spoiling anything): this fanfic starts in the beginning of season nine with the exception of flashbacks and will stay fairly canon except for my AU additional character that is Charlotte Winston who was orphaned as child and raised by a young priest, Father Walter Winston, who graciously took her in and raised her as his own. Father Winston, not only a Catholic priest but an experienced exorcist. Now, Charlotte will be the central protagonist throughout. Dean, Sam as well as other canon characters will also have their fair share of story time as well. Crowley, however, will be playing a very large role in this fanfiction and to forewarn everyone, yes, Charlotte and Crowley will have romantic involvement – Crowlette!

Just to forewarn, again, my stories take a while to progress and I try to keep the canon characters as canon as possible when it comes to AU characters. Does this mean, Crowley, a DEMON and KING OF HELL is going to fall madly in love with a human woman? No, it's not that simple and it wouldn't be a very good story if it was that way, would it? So, rest assured none of that. Also, for anyone who might be the least bit curious (as I always am) I picture Charlotte Winston being portrayed by Emmy Rossum. Readers, I hope you enjoy the story and I do hope I write Crowley (as well as the others) with justice.

**Story Details:  
Title: **The Demon and the Sinner  
**Rating: **Rated M for violence, language and sexual content as well as dark subject matter  
**Disclaimer:** Supernatural doesn't belong to me! Doubt I'd be on fanfiction if it did… just saying.  
**Story/Character Details:** Story begins in season nine, so therefore there will be spoilers for those who haven't watched the series thus far. There will be flashbacks (much of them AU). Story includes family drama, newfound friendship for Dean and Sam, exorcisms, character roller coaster with Crowley. My chapters aren't typically very long but I sometimes surprise myself.  
**Pairings: **Crowley/OFC Charlotte Winston, (eventual other pairings)

* * *

**The Demon and the Sinner  
**Chapter 1 / The Deal

_"You give me the reason, you give me control, I gave you my purity... my purity you stole."  
_

* * *

_**- Twenty-Eight Years Ago -  
**_**Early June 1985  
Saratoga, New York**

The weather outside was meek, fresh, cool summer rain drizzled down on the town of Saratoga, New York. When the sun shined the town's roads were filled with people bustling about visiting the various shops and men waging bets for OTB. At the very center of Saratoga was one of many Catholic churches; for they were abundant in the northeast, but this was the largest of them all: St. Dismas, led by Father Walter Winston.

He sat in his office, gripping his short glass filled only a quarter full with a brown liquid that burned pleasantly at the back of his throat. He wasn't in his usual black attire adorned with the famous white collar, but a pair of tan slacks and a long sleeved, light blue, ironed shirt. Walter Winston barely resembled what one would call a priest. He was extremely young (for priests, that is), only in his early thirties, tall with a slender build. His face was handsome which quite possibly made it hard for many of the female church goers to really pay attention to his sermons without noticing how handsome he was. All of his features were evenly placed, he had pink lips, well-shaped, straight, strong nose and dark brown eyes settled behind a pair of round spectacles which he adjusted constantly.

It was only ten in the morning and his body was aching for another late night of throwing holy water, his tongue sore from repeating Latin for what felt like hours. The whaling, the threats, the blood, the breaking of bones; exorcisms always took a lot out of him but it was something he specialized in, something he was good at. With his arm propped against the wall, he stared out his only office window and watched the grey skies drop rain onto the Earth, relishing in the bliss that another demon was sent back to Hell.

When an abrupt knock disrupted him, Walter set down his glass and opened his office door. A woman that was old enough to be his great-grandmother stood in the hallway, her hands crossed in her front of her, completely clad in dark blue, pointed shoes and a small, gold crucifix hanging around her neck, Mother Mary Fredericks was the head nun and principal of the St. Dismas Catholic School.

"Father," her tone surprised Walter, usually she is very kind and sweet but concern and, was that judgment, passed her lips? She looked him up and down, narrowed her eyes and continued, "There are two police officers waiting at the front of the parish, they wish to speak to you."

This couldn't possibly be about the exorcism, could it?

Walter shook his head, "Whatever for?"

Mother Fredericks pursed her lips, causing the wrinkles around her mouth to deepen, "As if you don't know… you should be ashamed of yourself."

Even as a priest, Walter still feared nuns, they had a power that even priests could never harness. He'd rather be in a room with a demon that Mother Fredericks. He didn't know what she was talking about only that she knew exactly what the police knew and wasn't telling him. Walter rushed from his office and at a quick pace, walked down the aisle, pacing the old, wooden pews, his shoes hitting the cold, hard floor, causing both police officers to turn to face him. Walter recognized the men, they came to Sunday mass every week with their wives and children, he had baptized one of their youngest just last year.

"Officers," Walter says, and stops, seeing that the other nuns were being led in by Mother Fredericks, all curiously awaiting to see what had happened. "How can I help you?"

Both police officers appeared uncomfortable at what they were about to say but Walter just stared at both of them, waiting eagerly.

"Well?" Walter asks again.

One of the officers step forward, Carlo Graziolo, that's his name, Walter remembers to himself, "Are you familiar with a woman by the name of Joanne Flynn?"

_Why on Earth are they asking me this? _Walter pictures him in his mind as clear as day, thick, full dark brown hair and a pale, beautiful face. She was an avid church-goer, a sweet, young woman. His breathing quickens but he tries to keep his cool, suddenly unnerved that the nuns were all standing behind him, hearing every word.

"Yes, she is a member of this parish, why?"

Carlo Graziolo nods his head and clears his throat, "Uh, _how _familiar are you to her?"

The second officer speaks up, Mickey O'Connell, yes, that's his name. "She sounded like you two were pretty familiar."

Walter glanced over his shoulder, he could feel the fire in Mother Fredericks eyes and looked back at the two officers, "Yes, yes, we were very familiar. She had family problems, father was a drunk, mother eventually became one, far too many siblings to feed. The church, I, helped her through a lot of it, with charities and-"

"And emotional support?" Graziola asks, quirking his eyebrow.

Walter swallows a burning lump in his throat, "W-Well, yes, I-"

O'Connell nods, "We're sorry to inform you, Father, but she passed away early this morning."

Walter nearly falls over, runs a hand over his face. The sounds of the nuns behind him rattle through his brain, he shakes his head and looks back at them, "How? She was so- so young?"

"Doctors say it was pneumonia, rare for someone her age to die from it but it happens," Graziola says, "… Were you aware that she moved out of Saratoga a little less than a year ago?"

Walter nodded slowly, "Yes, she had expressed to me that she needed to leave, I asked why but she said it was better if she kept it to herself. I trusted her and said the parish would miss her, we hadn't heard from her since… well, until this…"

"So…" O'Connell said, "You didn't know she was pregnant?"

Walter nearly choked and did, he stopped himself short and regained his composure, "P-Pregnant… n-no, she never said anything."

Graziola sighed, "I'm sorry to have to present this so publicly, Father, but, when Miss Flynn was in the hospital they asked who could take care of her child, who the father was, and the only name she wrote down was yours… said you were the father."

Walter could've sworn he felt the church walls start to crack and crumble around him, surely the ceiling would fall on him, Heaven would descend and he would be forced through Earth and down into Hell. The disapproving whispers of the nuns burned at his back but he was so numb to it all. He never thought his sin would come back to haunt him, not while still living.

"Father?" O'Connell asked, "Are you… the father?"

Walter wouldn't lie? How could he? He'd already done enough, but now he was going to deny the very child he fostered, the timing was right, the child would be two months old if it was his.

"How old is the child?"

Graziola nodded, "Two months, to the day actually. She was born April third."

Walter ran his hands over his face and nodded, relinquishing more sounds from the nuns, "Yes… the child is mine, I'm sure of it…"

"She is outside with another officer, we'll bring her to you then?"

But, the words didn't make it to Walter. He already had his back on the officers and walked nauseously down the church aisle to his office where he slammed the door shut and poured himself more him of his amber gold liquid. How could he have let himself be so foolish? Why hadn't he questioned Joanne more before she mysteriously moved away? Walter is a religious man, he believe in sin, Heaven and Hell, the whole nine yards, he knows for a fact demons are real but he chose to be priest so his influence as an exorcist was greater, so he could cover more ground. His intentions of priesthood were never as pure as they should have been and he knew he was a sinner but, now what would he do? Surely, he would have his priesthood ripped from him and be excommunicated. He would never be able to show his face in New York, it would be all over the local news, then the state news, surely.

An abrupt knock disrupted his thoughts and he instantly knew it to be Mother Fredericks. Sighing, preparing for the on slaughter, permitted her inside.

"Come in!"

The door opened and Walter looked over his shoulder, old, Mother Fredericks was standing just a step over the threshold and was holding a pink bundle in her arms. Her face was pinched, severe and disappointed.

"Couldn't stay long enough to collect your child, Father?" she sighed, "An even more appropriate term for you now, isn't it?"

"I don't want to here is, sister-"

"Well, you shall, for a long time coming," she hissed, "I had hope for you, there aren't many young priests and they are never taken seriously, they nearly always ending up messing up, just as you had. I'm calling the Bishop immediately; this will spread like wildfire all over Saratoga and eventually the entire state of New York."

Walter chuckled to himself, he wasn't sure if it was alcohol talking or not but he didn't care, "I'm sure you've been waiting a long time to do that, Mother."

Her light eyes saddened, "I have always been hard on you, Walter, even when you were a boy. You always danced on the line between light and dark. Everyone makes mistakes but you were trusted and chosen over many older, more experienced priests to take on this parish and this happens," she shakes her head, "And this child… she will surely always be known as the daughter of a priest… such a terrible thing." Mother Fredericks crosses the room and sighs, "Thank God she is healthy and beautiful, that much we can be thankful for."

Walter looks around the room, at the various books lining the shelves, to the drawers of his desk where he knew various tools and trinkets laid for exorcisms. What if he could make this all go away? What if there was a way to save him so he could continue his work of exorcisms and help this child of his have a better life? A life without judgment?

"Mother… can I ask one favor of you… before I leave this parish?" Walter asks, knowing full well he was lying. If everything went like he imagined it would, he wouldn't be leaving anytime soon.

Mother Fredericks nods, holding the infant tightly in her arms, "Of course, Walter."

"Watch after the child, I must collect all of things and get a train ticket to leave, it will take me nearly all afternoon."

She nods, "Yes, I can watch after her."

Walter quickly grabs his jacket as soon as Mother Fredericks leaves and begin collecting various tools and placing them in his briefcase, along with a very old, brown tattered book and he stops, bending over his desk, gripping the corners of it, his knuckles turn white and his heart pounds furiously in his chest. He knows what he must do but could he really permit himself to such a sinful, eternal damnation to Hell? He has exorcized so many demons for their terrible doings and now he was going to dance in the fire with them?

_Why was I so reckless? Why didn't I think before I went against my purpose? Now here I am, desperate._

* * *

_**- One Hour Later -  
**_**Somewhere outside of Saratoga**

In an abandoned building that was once an old textile factory, on the third floor, Walter Winston was rubbing various spices and herbs between his fingers and palms, allowing the fine grains to hit the bottom of the bowl. Sweat beaded at the back of his neck and the hair stood up on his arms, he was sweating and cold and then pulling at his collar, suddenly hot. Nausea would overcome him and he would swallow it back. He has faced demons before, spoken with them, stared deep into their soulless, dark pitted eyes, watch them tear families and homes apart. He's seen the dark side of faith, the only side he's really ever known, so why was he shaking? Why was this sudden revelation that he was going to summon a demon shaking him to his very core? Because he would have to owe them, they would be doing him and favor and he was a priest, would they even bother? Only chance would tell.

For the final ingredient for the spell, Walter slid the knife over his open palm and allowed the blood to drip into the bowl, red sparks shot out, the building shook ever so slightly and he turned around, realizing he wasn't alone.

The demon who had appeared before him was smirking, his rich, brown eyes were lit with anticipation and humor. The young man realized he reminded him more of a business man than some inhuman abomination. His complete attire was as black as coal and possibly belonged to a man on Wall Street.

"A priest?" the demon asked, his thick, Scottish brogue accent reverberated off the holy man. "That's certainly a game changer…" he shrugged, "Well, sort of. Priests aren't always nice," he smirked, "The name's Crowley."

The young priest nodded and fixed the round glasses that were sitting on his straight, nearly perfect shaped nose, "Father Walter Winston…"

The demon named Crowley snickered, shoving his hands in his long, black coat pockets, "You're really going to use that title when dealing with me… the big man upstairs won't appreciate it."

Walter shook his head, his jaw clenched and his nostrils flared, "It doesn't matter, I hardly consider myself a priest therefore I doubt God does."

"Oh? Now you're just turning me on," Crowley said, grinning. "What is it you want, Walt?" he held out his hand, "I can call you Walt?"

"A deal," he says, swallowing the burning lump down his throat that tasted of holy betrayal. "I believe that is what your kind makes, is deals."

Crowley nods, "Yes, and I feel I must inform you because I am standing before such a holy beacon of light," he rolls his eyes, "but, there is always a price tag attached to deals."

Walter scoffs, "I am quite aware there is a price. I am a priest, I know a thing or two about demons."

Crowley cocks his head, "Are you one of those special priests? Do you make people feel all better when they're possessed? Poke and prod your rosary beaded fingers around?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if I've exorcized you before, though you don't sound familiar," he scowled, "I'm sure I'd recognize that calloused, petty sense of humor."

"Oh," Crowley placed his hand over where his heart was, "You're breaking my heart, Walt, and I thought we had something special."

"All you demons do is dance around and make jokes," Walter shook his head, "I recently discovered I have a daughter… I'm sure nearly all of Saratoga knows by now."

Crowley's eyebrows rise in curiosity, "Oh, this just keeps getting juicer." He shrugs, "At least you weren't touching little boys, I consider touching a woman far more acceptable… enjoyable rather, that is why you did it, Walt, isn't it?"

Walter ignores him, he knows the games demons play and today he wasn't in the mood to dance, "This will not only ruin me and my practice, my reputation but my daughter's life as well. I want you to make it so no one knows about my daughter, that she is simply an orphan and I took her in."

Crowley nods, "Big order, pops," he says, shrugging, "Glad to see you're taking responsibility for you actions, but, hey," he grins, "Who am I to judge?"

"If you won't help me, I will summon another abomination who will!" Walter yells, the vein in his temple was throbbing, his dark eyes were mere slits, his fists were balled so tight, that the blood from one was dripping, make a puddle at his feet.

Crowley held up his hand, furrowing his brow, "Woah, never said I wouldn't help you. I make your little mistake vanish for your soul."

"My soul?!" Walter screams out, his handsome, young face suddenly devastated.

"What do you think I collect? Marbles?" Crowley asks, "You get ten more years being a priest and I collect your soul at the end of those ten, capishe?"

The priest shook his head, "Ten?" he laughs, "You must be joking, I'm one of the best exorcists out there, I deserve far more time than ten years…" Walter suddenly notices the pool of ruby, red blood soaking onto his shoes and sighs, "And I want to raise my daughter, at least so she is protected from creatures like you. She will only be ten when I am taken, that is far too young."

"Fine," Crowley hisses, evidence of his impatience, "Twenty years," he points at the priest, "You're getting a Hell of a deal, Walt. It's only because you're a priest and you're so pretty," he smirks, "Shake on it?" he asks, holding out his hand.

Walter stares at the hand, looks back up at Crowley and grasps his hand, shaking firmly. Crowley smirks and says, "See you around, Walt."

And just like that the demon named Crowley disappears and Walter Winston was left standing in his sins and blood, alone, afraid and wracked with endless amounts of guilt.

* * *

**Present Day  
The Bunker**

"I get one phone call, and I want _his_ blood, tiny's over there," Crowley says, nodding to a nervous Kevin Tran who was standing in the corner of Crowley's cell.

Sam Winchester had a knife pressed firmly against his skin, ready to give Crowley his phone call, in return for translations of the tablet. "What does it matter? Blood is blood."

Crowley leans back in his chair, eying Sam carefully and folds his hands in his lap, "I _want_ his blood. No Tran blood, no translations."

"No way!" Kevin yelled out, "You're not getting any of my blood!"

Crowley shrugged, "Then get a cracking on that tablet, boy!" he scowled, angrily.

Sam's shoulders fell; he couldn't make Kevin give up his blood. But, he knew if they held out a little longer, Crowley would crack again, he always does.

"I'll do it," Kevin says, stepping forward.

"Are you sure, Kevin?" Sam asks, suddenly becoming nervous at the idea of handing the knife to Kevin.

He nods, "Yeah, we need those translations, we're wasting time," he takes the knife and cuts himself, squeezing the blood into the bowl before Crowley.

Crowley smirks, "Thank you, boys," he leans forward and whispers words of Latin origin into the bowl and it begins to bubble, "Connect me to Abbaddon." The usual smug look leaves his face and is replaced by shock.

"What's the matter?" Sam asks.

"I'm on hold," Crowley says, leaning back in his chair.

Sam's lip quivers into a small smirk and he leans forward, "Hold? Aren't you the King of Hell?"

Crowley looks up at him, squinting his dark eyes as though envisioning slapping Sam through a wall but holds his tongue when the bowl of bubbling blood finally connects.

"Crowley," the sensuous, dangerous voice of Abbadon rings clear as a church bell throughout the room, his name trickles at the edge of the bowl with disgust as well as inhuman curiosity.

At the mention of his name, he sits up, pondering on the bowl of blood, "Abaddon, I demand you find your King and-"

She laughs, "You can't demand anything of me Crowley," she sounds joyous as schoolgirl as she rants and raves, "You're the Winchester's bitch, there is a new leader in Hell-"

"I have loyalty, Abbadon! You have nothing in Hell except a dusty piece on a chessboard with a new King!"

"Save it, Crowley," she spits, causing one of the blood bubbles in the bowl to pop loudly, "You know you have no power! You neatly locked away somewhere," she laughs, "I bet you had to beg the Winchester's to let you connect."

"I'll kill you," he says, glowering for only a second, expressing his true fit of rage. Abbadon made his blood boil, she always had. Chauvinistic and so prideful it put Lucifer to shame.

"I highly doubt that," she hums, getting bore with the confrontation quickly, "But, just encase…" And she whispers words that neither Sam nor Kevin had ever recognized before. Even Crowley appeared shocked, why, they would never know, as the blood in the bowl began to boil like hot lava.

"Go, Kevin!" Sam yells, pushing Kevin out of the room with him, slamming the metal bookcases behind him, catching one last glance at Crowley as the blood shot from the small bowl like water gushing from a heavy, broken damn. It hits the ceiling and coats the entire room, including Crowley, who is left screaming in such an unrecognizable pain, a pain that Sam had never heard issue from any demon he'd ever encountered in all his years of hunting.

"What's happening?" Kevin yells, clasping his hands over his ears. "What the hell was that?"

Sam shakes his head, "No idea," he yells, "We need to stop it!"

Kevin shakes his head, "I would disagree 'cause it's causing him pain but, I think it's causing me more."

They both nod and enter the hidden cell where Crowley's head in thrown back, his last breath of screaming and torture ends as his head flops forward and he doesn't move. Not a breath, not a witty retort, nothing.


	2. Old Faces, Even Older Demons

**.**

* * *

**The Demon and the Sinner  
**Chapter 2 / Old Faces, Even Older Demons

"_Life is a velvet crowbar, hittin' you over the head, you're bleeding but you want more."_

* * *

**April, 1998  
Cairo, New York**

Flying down Interstate 95 was a black Volvo Turbo Wagon. Father Walter Winston had been driving for a couple hours and weariness was poking fun at him. He squeezed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, stifling a weak yawn. An Elvis Presley cassette had been on repeat. He glanced at the passenger seat.

"Any questions before we do this?"

Charlotte Winston was on the edge of her seat [as far as her seatbelt would allow her to be], staring advantageously at the yellow lines in the middle of the road, waiting for a green exit sign. She had just turned thirteen and at first glance was like every other teenage girl, awkward and geeky, making the embarrassing transition between childhood and womanhood. She had curly hair that she religiously forced back into a ponytail and round glasses, much like her fathers.

What made her unlike most thirteen year old girls is while they were having slumber parties and crushing on boys, she was brushing up on her Latin, saying her Hail Mary's and helping her father exorcize demons.

She tore her curiosity away from the interstate and looked at her father, "No… well… one, but, it's a dumb question…" Charlotte muttered, staring into her lap.

Walter smiled, looking back at the road.

"You're too smart to ask dumb questions… This is very serious what I'm teaching you. If you have any questions or concerns, you need to let me know."

Charlotte had only ever seen one exorcism before. It was last summer, her very first time. She hadn't assisted her father, but was in charge of remaining with the two boys whose mother was being exorcized. It wasn't until Hunter's busted into the house, causing a scuffle between her father and the Hunter. Charlotte had never heard of a Hunter before but she had noticed her father's reaction- he looked annoyed unlike she who had been surprised.

The Hunter had two sons, one older who helped him and a younger one who stayed back with Charlotte. She remembered he was nothing like his father or brother, he didn't really seem interested in any of what they were doing.

But, what dwelled in her nightmares were the inhuman screams she heard that night, sounds she'd never heard before.

"Do you hurt the demon… when you exorcize them?"

"Well, that's complicated to say…" he glanced down at the cup holders and back at the road, "Can you hand me my cigarettes?"

Annoyed, Charlotte pulled out one of the Camel Lights and handed it to her father.

"Well, that's my question," she argued.

"Alright," he muttered, slipping the white filter between his lips. "I'm going to tell you this like an adult because we're dealing with an adult situation… and I love you… alright?"

She nodded.

He lit his cigarette, tossing the lighter into the cup holder. "Yeah, we hurt them," he noticed the discomfort on Charlotte's face but continues. "But, it isn't the same kind of pain we feel, as humans. You know what demons are. Their intent is always to harm, Lotti." He flicked the ash off his cigarette. "I've done a lot of exorcisms and I've not yet encountered a _nice_ demon. They tear families apart, they hurt people… they even kill people. Never trust a demon."

Charlotte dismally leaned back into her seat, propping her elbow against the door, staring at the dark expanse of sky. Mother Fredericks guilt-drenching voice pounded against the inside of her skull, she wasn't supposed to hurt anyone, no matter how different they were.

Didn't demons count to?

Eventually, the car turned off Interstate 95. Walter and Charlotte rolled into the small New York town of Cairo, finally halting the car in the drive way of a large, light blue country house. The house was lit up like a Christmas tree.

Excited, Charlotte went for the door handle when Walter reached over grabbing her shoulder.

"You remember what you're supposed to do?"

Charlotte nodded. "Let you do all the talking."

"What do you do?"

"Watch."

"That'a girl."

Walter Winston stepped out of the car, Charlotte followed him to the trunk where he slipped on his white collar and grabbed a suitcase.

"Why are you putting that on? We're not at church."

Walter didn't want to tell his daughter, _authenticity_, because he was supposed to be teaching her a lesson, being raised by a priest and she is his "supposed" adopted daughter. So he told a white lie, as all parents do that love their children.

"That way the demon knows I'm a priest."

Walter and Charlotte walked up the drive. Before they stepped onto the porch, the front door flew open. A tall, large man stepped forth, tired and shaken. His sandy hair looked like he'd been raking his fingers through it for hours.

"Father Winston?"

"That's me," Walter smiled. "This is my daughter, Charlotte."

"_Daughter?_"

Walter grimaced. "Adopted." He hated saying the word, it made him a liar.

"Of course, my name is Pete Rowans, we spoke on the phone… come inside." He glanced at Charlotte. "My daughters are in the other room."

Charlotte looked up expectantly at her father.

Walter smiled. "Charlotte will be assisting me in the exorcism."

Mr. Rowans' mouth dropped. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"Very," Walter said, removing his jacket and dropping it on the hook. "But, she has to learn sooner or later this world is filled with terrible creatures. I'm doing my job to protect her, Mr. Rowans, just like you are with your family… which _is_ why you called me and not the local authorities, am I right?"

People were always astonished when Father Winston in person was nothing like the professional Father Winston they consulted with over the phone. In person he was cold, calculating, he didn't have time for unnecessary questions and games. On the phone, he practically sounded like Bing Crosby from "The Bells of St. Mary's." His priestly patience didn't exist past the perimeters of any sanctuary. He wore the white collar for authenticity but removed it before he began the exorcism.

Sometimes, the collar just got too damn hot.

"Where is Mrs. Rowans now?"

"In the basement," Pete whispered, "Doing the laundry… she- _it_- neither of them know you're here."

"Your girls need to stay up here, now, I'm serious, Pete. You need to come downstairs with Charlotte and I. We're not leaving this house until that demon is out of your wife, you hear me?"

Pete nodded confidently, though his gentle eyes were bleary with worry.

"Ready, dear?" Walter glanced at his daughter.

She nodded, stubbornly not allowing her father to see how truly scared she was. Charlotte followed her father and Mr. Rowans downstairs into the basement. Mrs. Rowans was standing in front of the washer, folding towels on top, humming a tune softly to herself.

Charlotte recognized the humming, it was a song she learned from one of the sister's as a little girl: _'This little light of mine, I'm going to let it shine…'_

"H-Honey?" Mr. Rowans stared at the back of his wife's head, afraid for who would respond: his wife or the demon.

She continued to fold the towels, humming louder than before.

Charlotte took a step back. Walter looked down at her and nodded, approving of her decision. He reached into his suit case, pulling on an old, withered King James Bible and a black rosary. Walter slid the two items behind a chest of drawers.

"Get the red spray paint."

Charlotte dove into the suitcase, finding the can.

"You know the symbol?"

She nodded.

"When I tell you… draw it in the center of the room… make sure there isn't a break anywhere." Walter approached Mrs. Rowans, the humming growing louder as he drew nearer. "Mrs. Rowans-"

Mrs. Rowans faced Walter. Her shining, black eyes bore into him, menacing and delighted.

"Mrs. Rowans isn't here anymore."

"M-Mary?" Mr. Rowans choked out.

"Now, Charlotte!" Walter threw his fist, knocking Mrs. Rowans to the ground. He jumped on top, pulling out a can from his jacket and emptying the clear contents on her. The liquid burned her flesh, erupting a terrible, inhuman noise from Mrs. Rowan.

Charlotte burst across the room, dropping to her knees to the cement floor and drawing the devils trap. She'd been drawing it for years. Her palms were sweaty, the can kept slipping but she persisted, mentally blocking out her father's struggles behind her.

"Help me, Mr. Rowans!" Walter turned Mrs. Rowans over, clamping her hands behind her back, shoving his elbow deep between her shoulder blades.

"P-Pete! Help me!" The real Mrs. Rowans yelled out.

"You're hurting her!" Mr. Rowans charged towards Walter.

"It's the demon, Pete! It's tricking you! It wants you to think it left your wife, but's it's still in there! Charlotte, are you done?"

"Y-Yes!" She struggled as she finished the last line, quickly looking over her art and jumping back, the can rolling out of her hand.

She watched her father and Mr. Rowans drag Mrs. Rowans across the cement floor and toss her into the devils trap. Her eyes blinked and the shining, malicious black ones were staring all of them in the face.

"Child labor?" the demon cackled. "This is new."

"My things, Charlotte!" Walter held out his hand, never taking his eyes off the demon.

Charlotte ran past a distraught Mr. Rowans who was in the middle of tearing his hair out. She struggled reaching his Bible and rosary that were tucked secretly behind the chest of drawers.

"What's your name, demon?" Walter glowered at Mrs. Rowans.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Desmond."

The thick, Scottish accent carried through the cold cellar. Mrs. Rowans head snapped up, Walter and Mr. Rowans turned around.

Crowley, hands shoved in his black coat pockets was observing the scene in the basement keenly.

"A party and I wasn't invited? Walt, that just hurts." He nodded to Mrs. Rowans. "The demon, we call him Desmond, I call him Desi depending on my mood."

He noticed Charlotte; back pressed against the chest of drawers, breathing heavily, her mouth agape, peering over the top of her glasses.

"Will I have to send you back to Hell, as well, _Crowley_?" Walter threatened.

"Don't be like that, Walt," he nodded his head to the side, "I was only stopping in to pick up my payment."

Walter's breath hitched in his throat.

Crowley smirked, "Sorry, let me elaborate, don't want to mess up any transactions," he winked at Charlotte and looked back at Walter. "I'm here for a Mrs. Rowans."

Crowley created a nauseous feeling within Charlotte. She'd never been so close to a demon before in her life, it disturbed her how incredibly human they looked and acted. The pictures she'd always seen of them were with claws, bat-like wings and horns. Her father had always said there is always more to a demon than what one reads.

"Wrong time, Crowley," Walter crossed the room. He stepped in front of Charlotte, reaching behind the chest of drawers, finding his Bible and rosary. "In the middle of something, you must have the wrong Mrs. Rowans."

"Afraid not. We met up ten years ago at a lovely café around the corner." Crowley noticed Charlotte peering at him from around her father. Her curiosity amused him and so did her origins. "Yours? Glad to see that extra time has been paying off."

"Out!" Walter's voice boomed. "I swear I will send you out myself!"

"You won't be doing anything, mate." Crowley grabbed Walter by the collar of his shirt, nose to nose.

"Daddy!" Charlotte screamed.

"Don't mistake me like the rest of the demons you play tag with." The corner of Crowley's lip quirked up. "Remember, when I come to collect, she'll be all alone. Don't cross me, Walt, and don't interfere with my professional affairs." Crowley tossed Walter without breaking a sweat. He flew across the room, smashing into the front of the washer. Crowley adjusted the collar of his coat. "I have a reputation to uphold."

"Dad!" Charlotte shoved past Crowley, falling to her father's side. Her brown eyes watered and she looked up at Crowley. "Go back to Hell where you belong!"

"Charlotte-" Walt sat up, pained, he reached out for his daughter. "Don't."

"Good job, Walt, keep her in line," Crowley said, crossing the basement, facing the demon and Mrs. Rowans. "Thought you'd skimp me on my deal, Desi? I'm here to collect, now GET OUT OF HER!"

The demon flinched. "I don't want her- she complains too much-" its black eyes averted to Walter. "I have my sights set elsewhere."

Crowley looked at Walter and back at the demon. "Afraid you can't have him either," he leaned forward, "Under contract as well."

The demon scowled. "You ain't leaving anything for the rest of us, Crowley."

"Try Boston." The demon glared at Crowley and Mrs. Rowans through her head back. Black, spiraling smoke shot from her mouth.

Charlotte pressed herself into her father's side, half hiding her face, stifling her cries. Walter threw his arm around her.

"Good parenting, Walt- though, not exactly a PG rating." Crowley stood before Mrs. Rowans, watching her body collapse onto the ground. Mr. Rowans rushed forward, pulling his wife into his arms.

"Mary? Mary, wake up."

Mrs. Rowan's eyes opened. Instead of staring up at her husband, she was staring at Crowley, stone cold and scared.

"You're here."

"I always keep to my promises."

"What's going on?" Mr. Rowan asked, voice shaking and hands trembling.

"Since the cats out of the bag, or well, the demon, how about we just throw it all out there? I have many other appointments to be getting to." Crowley gestured to Mrs. Rowans. "Your lovely wife made a deal with me ten years ago. I'm here in exchange for her soul for- oh- what was it again-?"

Mrs. Rowans eyes filled with tears, cringing at whatever Crowley was about to say.

"That's right, to continue your ongoing affair with your neighbor without your husband suspecting a thing, even the legitimacy of your children." Crowley grinned. "The sex must've been out of this world."

"You're lying!" Mr. Rowans yelled, pointing to Walter. "He says you creatures lie all the time! Get out of my house!"

Crowley threw his head back, rolling his eyes. "Why do you fill people with false hopes, Walt?" He reached out, grabbing Mrs. Rowans shoulder and squeezing. She screamed and fell over, collapsing onto the cold, cement floor, unmoving.

"M-Mary! MARY!" Mr. Rowans shook his wife's limp form.

Crowley crossed the room, stopping at Walter's feet. "Nice meeting you Charlotte, thought I'd never have the pleasure."

"You didn't have to come here, Crowley," Walt cringed, trying to sit up. "You could've sent your hounds."

"It wasn't a pleasure meeting _you_." Charlotte, still pressed into her father's side, glanced at Crowley and looked away, wishing for him to disappear.

"I could've," Crowley shrugged, "But, where's the fun in that?" He pointed at Charlotte, looking at Walter. "Not the best of manners, you should work on that, you still have time." Crowley shrugged. "She's only thirteen, right? This is the age to get em', Walt, or then it will be drugs, sex and boys all the time and you don't want that-"

"GO!" Walter yelled.

"Now I see where she gets it," Crowley mutters. "See you around, Walt."

And he disappeared, leaving Charlotte peering around the basement, praying that would be the last time she'd ever see the demon named Crowley again.

* * *

**Present Day  
Central Nebraska Regional Airport**

"How did you even find this… what's her name?" Dean pulled the Impala into the airport parking lot, shifting the car into park.

"Charlotte Winston." Sam shifted papers around in his lap. "How do you not remember her?"

"Was she hot?"

"She was thirteen, Dean."

Dean watched Sam force the file in between the seats. "What are those and why are you shoving them into my car?"

"Everything _I_ could dig up about what Abbadon did to Crowley, I grabbed the information for Charlotte to look through, maybe it will help her." He sighed, running his hand through his hair. "We need Crowley, Dean, he knows a lot more than we do about those translations."

"Alright." Dean turned to face Sam. "And why did we fly her all the way from New York? We could've found an exorcist anywhere, Sam!"

"We _know_ her, Dean. Or, somewhat. She followed her father's work and is incredibly successful with what she does. When I called her, told her who we were, she didn't remember us but she definitely remember how pissed her dad was at ours."

"Wait, this girl, her dad was the _priest_?" Dean grinned. "The exorcism just outside of Buffalo years ago? Yeah," he snorted. "Her dad was pissed… she's adopted, right?"

Sam opened the car door. "Yeah, she said her father died years ago."

Dean stepped out of the car, meeting Sam around the front. "Yeah? Demon came back and bite him in the ass?"

"Heart attack." Sam pulled out a slip of paper from his pocket. "Alright, her plane arrived twenty minutes ago. She should be getting off right about now."

* * *

Charlotte Winston had been surprised when she received a phone call from an unidentified number with a man on the other end claiming to know her. He said his name was Sam Winchester and his brother was Dean but Charlotte couldn't recall either man, but when he mentioned her first ever case with her father, just outside of Buffalo when she was twelve, she remembered. Her father had been pissed the hunters had just shown up on his turf, which caused him to smoke double the amount of cigarettes he usually did in those kinds of situations. She was impressed they managed to even look her up, Charlotte kept herself well-hidden from the public and her works with exorcisms was typically an underground operation. She wasn't part of the clergy nor a member of the church, though she certainly had her faith.

When she landed in Nebraska, keeping a keen eye out for the two Winchester brothers, she didn't know what to expect.

"Charlotte?"

She turned around, staring straight into a blue, flannel shirt and looked up and stepped back. The man was exceptionally tall, as Charlotte had never been blessed with height, and handsome, though his brow was furrowed and his mouth pursed, as though troubled. Another man, of also good height, but not quite as tall, walked up behind the first man, and had also been blessed with James Dean good looks.

Just as the taller ones mouth opened, Charlotte reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, silver trinket and splashed both men in the faces with water. They exchanged wary looks, and the shorter of two, annoyed, blinked at her.

"Holy water?"

Charlotte nodded. "Are you Sam… or is it Dean?"

The taller one said, "I'm Sam and this is my brother Dean. You're Charlotte Winston?"

Charlotte swallowed the trepidation rising in her throat, now she was here, so far from home and had really no idea why. She knew it involved an exorcism, as Sam had mentioned over the phone, but their father was a hunter, surely they could've handled this themselves.

"I have to be honest," she started, "I'm not comfortable going anywhere with you two. You're hunters."

Dean scoffed, "Yeah? Your dad was a priest- what of it?"

Sam sighed and Charlotte cocked her head to the side, "What does that have to do with any of this?"

Dean, on the offense, glanced at Sam who shook his head and looked back down at Charlotte. "I- we- completely understand your apprehension. The fact that you flew out here says a lot on your part, but we need help," he glanced around the airplane terminal and back down at her, "We need to speak privately about this."

Charlotte nodded, agreeing that talking about exorcisms in public wasn't such a good idea. She followed the brother's outside and to their car, impressed by the condition. Her father would've appreciated such a car, but not that she was making dealings with hunters.

'_Hunters and demons, stay away from 'em both, Lotti. Neither will do you good in this life.'_

She pushed her father's comforting voice in the recesses of her brain and focused her attention back on Sam and Dean.

Sam procured a file for her and she opened it, looking over the pools of information. Some of which she had never seen before. Charlotte gave them a wary look and closed the file, "Doing a research project? Is that what you flew me out here for?"

"Not exactly-" Sam began.

"We need your help healing a freakin' demon," Dean said brashly.

Sam sighed.

"_Healing_ a _demon_?" Charlotte was beyond flabbergasted.

"It's not that cut and dry," Sam said, trying to remedy her surprise. "Yes, we have a demon in custody. But, we need him, he's agreed to help us with something."

"So, this demon… is he… alive?"

Dean nodded, "Comatose demon."

"And everything _you_ two have tried hasn't worked to get him out?"

They both nodded. Charlotte slapped the file against Sam's chest and hoisted her bag back onto her shoulder. "If you two didn't already know, I detain demons, I send them back to Hell, I don't _help_ them! You know," she scoffed, "I knew hunters already walked the line but that is crossing it! You two are out of your freakin' minds!"

"Wait!" Sam called, just as Charlotte began walking away.

Sam jumped in front of her, "Him helping us is far better than letting him stay comatose for eternity!"

Charlotte walked around him, "I highly doubt that."

"Forget it, Sam!" Dean yelled, "She can't do it! We wasted our money on an amateur!"

Charlotte's feet froze in their spot and she slowly turned around, "Amateur? I could do circles around you, hunter."

Dean shrugged, now leaning against the hood of his car, "Then why not help?"

Charlotte looked up at Sam who was holding the file in his hands, his eyes shining with hope, "Why do you need this demon, what is he going to do for you two?"

"Can't tell you that," Sam said.

"I'm not walking into any situation that involves a demon and not knowing the repercussions. And I'm positive you two would do the same!"

"Well," Dean shrugged, "You're going to have to trust that we know what we're talking about. As I recall, our father did take care of that demon outside of Buffalo."

Charlotte smirked. "Whatever makes you sleep at night."

"If we fill you in," Sam says, "Will you help us?"

"Depends on your deal with the demon?"

"No deal," Sam says, "He's our prisoner. So, if he wants out, he has to help us."

Charlotte eyed his face carefully, noting how honest he seemed. "And he won't come back and kill all of us?"

"He's taken a liking to us," Dean says from behind.

Charlotte rolled her eyes, "Demons don't _like_ anything."

"You'd be surprised," Sam said, eyes widening.

All three stood in a triangle from one another. Charlotte glanced back and forth at the brothers, realizing they really did need her help. She snatched the file from Sam's hands and headed for the car.

"My flight doesn't leave for a week, I have some time to kill."

* * *

While the Chevy Impala cruised down the highway with AC/DC blasting on the player, Charlotte reminisced her younger years, spending the majority of her summer's with her father in his not as cool wagon with Presley playing. It made her feel incredibly warm, a warmth she hadn't felt for a long time. However, it made her uncomfortable that she had a blindfold over her eyes, as to not know the whereabouts of where they were going.

That took some great arguing and debating on both ends, but Charlotte conceded not because Dean and Sam put up such a good argument but her curiosity was intrigued by whatever these guys had up their sleeves. It must've been a very tricky situation involving a demon and now that Charlotte was here, she couldn't stop herself from knowing.

When the car came to a halt, Sam reached around and tore off the blindfold.

Charlotte blinked a few times, adjusting to the light and stepped out of the car. It was parked in front of steps that led down to a door.

"A fort?"

"Sort of," Sam said, grabbing her bag to carry it.

Charlotte followed the two brothers inside and stopped when she saw a third person. He was way younger than all of them, and looked at her as though he'd been expecting her.

"You didn't mention there was anyone else besides you two?"

"Sorry," Sam smiled weakly, "But, he's a good kid. Kevin, this is Charlotte, Charlotte-Kevin."

Kevin nodded to her and Charlotte walked forward. She was marveled by the expanse and intricacy of the room. She had to look at the three men one last time to try and understand why two hunters and kid were holed up in such a magnificent place.

"I didn't realize hunters had such nice homes, makes one reconsider their path in life," she said, bluffing, but hoping to get a little more truth out of this unprecedented situation.

"It's a temporary home," Sam said. "And it wasn't originally ours."

Charlotte looked over Sam, Dean and Kevin. She didn't like how outnumbered she felt and chose to stand behind the table, with them on the other side. "Now is about time you start filling me in."

Over the next few minutes, the gist of what she got was unparalleled and confusing to what she has ever heard before. She had a feeling they had left out some major and key points to their story, but what she got overall was: world is in danger due to supernatural forces, one demon with extensive, old knowledge might be able to help them out.

"So… angels are real?" Charlotte asked.

Dean had his arms crossed and his eyes were heavily-lidded. He hadn't been very thrilled that Sam had relented so much information. "Yeah, and they're a pain in the ass. You should let the Sunday school teachers back home know they're giving the wrong information to the kiddies."

Everything they told her, about the war in heaven, angels falling to Earth, demons rising up, it alarmed her. Charlotte suddenly grew cold and something ached within her, she wanted her father there more than anything. He would know what to do, he would know how to go about all of this. What Sam and Dean Winchester, and even Kevin, had told her, made Charlotte incredibly scared and hesitant to help. She'd never heard of so much catastrophe and chaos in one sitting.

"H-How did you three get involved in all of this?"

The three men looked at one another and back at Charlotte. Sam being the only one who spoke up.

"It's really complicated."

"Save it for a rainy day," Dean added.

Charlotte nodded, deciding she didn't want to hear any more about how the chance of human life sustaining such a supernatural war was held in Sam and Dean's hands. Two people, that's it. It sent chills down her spine and she felt like she'd walked into a nightmare.

Dean noticed the sick, troubled look plaguing Charlotte's face and felt remorse. He was never a fan of dragging people into their problems if they didn't want or have too. "Listen," Dean's voice was low, rumbling but comforting, which surprised Charlotte. "If you want to leave now, none of us blame you."

Sam and Kevin snapped their heads at Dean. They had been pouring over information for days, they knew how badly they needed Crowley.

"Dean," Sam began. "We need her expertise- we need Crowley, how many times do I have to stress how important-?"

"I'll help," Charlotte said, instantly regretting she'd said that. "It's just- I don't know if I'll be able to help. I've never heard of a demon being comatose because of another demon… and a holy war… in heaven… all of this sounds like stories from the Bible." She shook her head, running her hands through her curly, brown hair. "It's just… bizarre and terrifying."

"We know," Sam said, softly. "It scares all of us too, but you know, Charlotte. When you're in this kind of business and you know what's out there, it's hard to turn away…"

Charlotte felt Sam's empathy but also his strength. She was here, she could help, and if Mother Fredericks taught her one thing, it was to help everyone, no matter how strange or terrible. Sometimes Charlotte wished Mother Fredericks hadn't been like a mother to her all those years, she wouldn't have such a martyr complex because of it.

"Alright," Charlotte inhaled a shaky breath and exhaled weakly, "Let me see the demon first."

She followed Sam to a filing room, wary of the dimness and that it didn't look like a place to keep a demon prisoner.

"It's in here?" she asked, skeptically searching Sam's face.

Sam nodded, "Yeah," and he grabbed the handles on some shelves and pulled them open like a set of heavy doors.

Charlotte stopped short and gawked at the person slumped over in the chair. She instantly recognized the devil's trap and lunged forward, suddenly unafraid. She stopped again, the air hitched in her lungs. She recognized him, but who was he? She couldn't tell. Charlotte, suddenly, filled with an abundance of fear again, stepped up to the comatose demon. She looked back at Sam, who saw the distress and horror cloaking her face.

"What's wrong-?"

Charlotte crouched down slowly, a terrible ball of worry clutched at her stomach and she swallowed down the urge to vomit. She reached up with a shaky hand and lifted the chin of the specimen- her hand pulled away like it had touched fire and she fell back onto the ground, crawling back towards the wall and screaming at the top of her lungs.


End file.
